Anchor Points
by I am hurricane
Summary: Stiles smiles, crookedly as he pulls out his phone, "Wow, so it only took you sixteen hours to crack," he teases as he answers it, "I hope you know, that officially makes you the needy one in this relationship."


Stiles eyes the cards on the table, chewing on the end of his cigar, as figures the odds. Then with a nod, he nudges a few chips forward.

"Raise," he mutters, around the cigar in his mouth.

Across from him, Scott smirks, rapping his knuckle on the tabletop, "Call." Stiles squints slightly at Scott, sizing him up, watching him for any number of tells. But Scott stares him down cooly, wearing that same stupid smirk.

Liam glances back and forth between the pair of best friends then tosses his cards face down on the table, "Fold," he mutters, sullenly.

"Dude!" Mason protests from beside him, "You can't just fold every single hand." Liam scowls at his friend before slugging him in the arm. "I'm just saying…" Mason mutters under his breath as he rubs the tender spot on his arm. Mason checks the cards on the table before grinning and tossing a few more chips in the pot with a flourish, "Call," he says as he leans back in his chair looking confident.

Stiles flicks his eyes around the table before landing on Parrish who's chewing his lip indecisively beside him. Parrish leans back in his chair with a sigh and folds his cards, "Okay, I'm out." The sheriff's deputy lifts his beer in a salute to the remaining players, "Alright guys, show 'em."

Stiles grins before tossing his cards on the table; he has a full house, eights full of aces. Which easily beats Mason's two-pair. Stiles smirks around the end of his cigar and flicks his eyes toward Scott. His best friend flashes him a glint of teeth before setting down his cards. The cigar in Stiles' mouth droops as he reads the cards on the table. Scott has a straight flush.

"Dammit," Stiles mutters around his cigar. "How do you keep doing that?" Scott's shoulders shake with laughter as he rakes in the pot, pulling all the chips and spare cash to his side of the table. Stiles shakes his head, jabbing out his cigar in the ashtray nearby. "You know it would be pretty low of you to use your 'werewolf' powers to hustle me out of my money. Especially tonight."

Scott rolls his eyes. "I'm not hustling you."

Stiles leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, "Yeah, sure you're not," he says with a crooked, disbelieving smile. Liam slides back from the table and stands up, "I'm gonna grab another drink. You guys want one?"

Stiles shakes his head, "Nah, I'm good buddy. I gotta stay sharp otherwise I'm gonna end up honeymooning in New Jersey." The rest of the guys snicker.

The doorbell rang, and Liam hollers from the kitchen, "Pizza's here."

Stiles skids back his chair and starts for the door. He jabs his thumb toward Scott, "Watch him for me will you," he says to Parrish, as he passes him clapping his fellow deputy on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get the pizza," Scott says as he grabs a handful of cash form the table.

"I'd say thanks," Stiles scowls, as he drops back into his chair, "But it's not a gift if you're paying for it with my money." Scott's laughter carries down the hall after him as he makes his way to the front door of Stiles' childhood home.

Stiles feels his phone buzzing wildly in his pocket and furtively checks it under the table. He breaks out into a grin when he sees the name on his caller i.d. He quickly shoves his phone back in his pocket and stands up grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, "I'm gonna go grab another case of beer from the garage," he says quickly, trying to make his excuse sound casual as he shrugs on his jacket.

"Don't eat all my pizza!" He calls back over his shoulder as he slips out the side door of dad's house.

Stiles smiles, crookedly as he pulls out his phone, "Wow, so it only took you sixteen hours to crack," he teases as he answers it, "I hope you know, that officially makes you the needy one in this relationship."

He neglects to mention of course that he'd practically had to sit on his hands to keep from texting her all night. Malia had been away on assignment in Mozambique for the last two weeks doing a piece on jackals for national geographic. She'd only just got back yesterday, and the only time they had really seen each other had been at their rehearsal dinner. And then their friends had promptly dragged them off for their separate bachelor and bachelorette parties.

"I'm glad you called first," he admits almost shyly, "I almost broke down and texted you, like, twelve times. At least now I feel like less of a sap, y'know?" She's quiet on the other end of the line, and his smile falters. "Mal?"

"…I'm here," she breathes out after a short pause. There's something wrong; Stiles can hear it her voice.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just really need to talk to you about something."

How bad is it? Stiles wonders as he automatically starts pacing. "Okay, okay, do you need me to come to you?"

"No. I'm upstairs." Stiles walks a few paces away from the house and arches his head up to look at the second floor. Sure enough, the window in his childhood bedroom is wedged open. A chill rushes down his back. That means that she'd just snuck out of her bachelorette party the night before their wedding just to tell him something. That couldn't be good.

Stiles licks his suddenly dry lips and tries to swallow down his anxiety, "O-okay," he sputters, "I'll, uh, be right up."

He stands there looking up at the window with a sinking feeling in his chest as the call disconnects. He slips his phone back into his jacket and pauses for a moment with his hands in his pockets sucking in a deep breath of the cold night air. A minute ago he'd been embarrassingly excited to talk to her, and now he was suddenly, dreading what she might have to say.

It's easy to slip back into his house undetected. The guys are all gathered around the pizza boxes in the kitchen. Their voices and laughter boom from the kitchen and carry throughout the house, making it easy for Stiles to dash up the stairs without being noticed.

He doesn't want Scott or the others to catch him. Strictly speaking, Stiles and Malia aren't supposed to see, talk to or even text each other for the entirety of this weekend. Ordinarily, they wouldn't let a little thing like their friends' rules stop them, but they'd decided to make things interesting with a friendly little side wager on which of them would give in first. So up until now, Stiles had been playing by the rules. He'd been hoping that Malia had been calling to concede. But Malia didn't sound right on the phone, whatever this was about it's hard for her. And doesn't need the guys busting in when she's trying to open up about something.

The door to his old room is slightly askew, and he can see a sliver of her profile through the gap in the door. She's sitting perched on the corner of his bed, her arms resting on her knees, her fingers knotted together. Seeing her sitting there now sends a rush of nostalgia through him. She's snuck into this room thousands of times before. So much so that she had it down to a fine art. But she hasn't had to sneak into his room since they were in high school. Stiles swallows down his trepidation. Ordinarily, Stiles feels pretty confident in him and Malia. But it's the night before their wedding, and all his anxieties and insecurities are starting to rush to the surface. So he takes a few seconds to fight off the anxiety and remind himself of all the things they've managed to get through to get them to this moment.

Evil fox spirits. Dread doctors. Assassins. Beasts. Ghost riders. Black dogs.

…five breakups.

He's worked really hard to make sure that Malia feels safe enough to come to him with things when she needs to talk. And he won't risk screwing that up now just because he's feeling jittery. So takes a steadying breath and just watches her for a moment and something powerful washes over him. There is nothing she could tell him right now that could make him love her any less. Even if what she's about to say to him will hurt him. He's known her, loved her and been friends with her for too long for that to even be possible.

So he slips inside his old bedroom and shuts the door. He quietly crosses the room. As he gets closer, Malia looks up, startled as though she'd been lost in thought. "Hey," she says lowly, as she unlaces her fingers and straightens up.

"Hi," he replies, just as softy as he comes to the foot of the bed. Malia gives him a small, fleeting smile before looking down and away. Stiles kneels down in front of her, settling his hands on her legs. She still won't look up at him. So Stiles runs his hands back and forth along her thighs, soothingly. "Hey," he coaxes in a warm, gentle voice, "What's the matter, baby?" His big warm hands span across her kneecaps, giving them a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Her small hands settle over of his, and she lifts her head, her thumbs stroking over the backs of his hands as she opens her mouth to speak but just can't seem to get the words out.

She gives a soft frustrated growl before biting her lip and looking away from him again her shoulders are tense, she's struggling with herself about something. She just can't seem to get it out. Undeterred Stiles folds his arms across her lap and sets his chin on the back of one arm. And Malia is suddenly confronted with a warm lapful of him. He tilts his head in an effort to catch her eyes and when she finally lifts her chin to meet his eyes he a soft, adoring smile, "C'mon, it's me." He whispers conspiratorially, "You can tell me anything."

Her eyes are still troubled, but she gives him a sweet, melancholy smile as she reaches out to caress his cheek, her thumb running back and forth along his chin fondly. Her other arm wraps around his shoulder as she leans down and kisses him tenderly.

"I know," she whispers as she breaks away. She straightens up again but keeps her arm curled around Stiles' shoulder, her fingers stroking the nape of his neck as if soothing herself. She takes a deep breath as though trying to gather the right words.

"You know that I love you. And that I'd never do anything to hurt you, right?" She blurts out after a moment.

Stiles blinks startled by the question, "Yeah, of course."

"Good," she says with a quick, jerky nod. "That's good."

Stiles bites his lip to keep himself from talking. Just when he feels like his anxiety is about to spiral out of control again, she finally says, "I don't want to change my name."

His chin lifts from the back of his arm, and he blinks startled. A flurry of emotions coursed through him at her simple admission. Relief—Is that it? That's what she's so upset about? Fear—Wait! Is she saying that she doesn't want to get married? And then his thoughts are muddled with confusion.

Malia is watching him expectantly, and a sudden rush of guilt washes over him.

"Did I, did I pressure you into getting engaged?" Stiles asks after a moment.

Malia shakes her head, "What?" One of her hands shoots out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, "Stiles no! Never."

Stiles licks his lips and nods, "Good," he breathes out relieved, as his hands slide back down to her knees, "Because we don't have to do this if you're not ready," he rushes to explain.

Malia cocks her head, her gorgeous caramel brown eyes glittering down at him. She tugs on the front of his shirt until he straightens up on his knees, then catches his face in her hands. Malia gently strokes his jaw until he meets her eyes.

"I want to marry you," she tells him firmly, "I just want to do it without giving up my name. At the rehearsal dinner I realized that my dad, he would be the last Tate."

Stiles runs his hands back and forth along her legs reassuringly, "Aw, Mal, he doesn't have to be. We can take each other's names." He assures, feeling like an idiot for not understanding, for not getting what she was saying at first and making it all about him and his insecurities. Malia smiles lovingly at him and caresses his cheek.

"No, you're a Stilinski, your dad is a Stilinski, and all my kids are gonna be Stilinski's—"

"All your kids?" He interrupts, giving her a warm crooked grin. They had never really talked about having kids or how many they were going to have. But it makes him ridiculously happy that she's thought about it already.

"Yeah, all my kids are gonna be Stilinski's," she says with this deep loving conviction. "But I'm not. It took me a long time to figure out who I am, Stiles and I'm a Tate. A Tate that's very much in love with you. Can you, can you understand that?" Her voice tense with nervousness.

Warmth rushes through him, and he rises to his full height on his knees and touches Malia's cheek, sweetly, "Malia Tate, I love you," he breathes out his voice rough with emotion, "And I will take you any way I can get you," he assures her solemnly.

Malia catches his face in her hands and kisses him, desperately. Stiles rises up off his knees and Malia half hauls him up to meet her. They tumble back sideways onto the bed. Malia's fingers stay curled in front of his shirt as his arms snake around her back, holding her tight. As the kiss slows and they eventually pull back, lying on their sides facing each other, grinning stupidly. They stay like that, caught up in each other's eyes, trading little kisses as they catch their breath.

But their happiness is ruined as the bedroom door slams open, and a very perturbed Lydia Martin strides into the bedroom, "Alright, lovebirds, break it up," she says giving the mattress a little kick with the toe of her designer heel. Stiles and Malia sit up, Malia gives Lydia a disgruntled look and Stiles just looks sheepish.

"Don't give me that look, Tate." Lydia says, "You're missing a perfectly good bachelorette party right now, one that I spent months planning."

"I needed to talk to Stiles," Malia says stubbornly.

Lydia rolls her eyes, "Sure you did. Well, you can "talk" to Stiles anytime. But Lydia Martin only throws you a bachelorette party once. So, up. Move it. Let's go."

Scott and the other guys crowd in the doorway wolf-whistling. "I knew you guys couldn't stay away from each other." Scott teases stepping into the room.

"You had one job, McCall," Lydia chastises. "These two can't help themselves, what's your excuse?"

"Whoa! Don't try pinning this on me. At least my guy didn't escape on me."

Stiles shakes his head, "Hey, hey, we're not teenagers. We can control ourselves." He says, as he subtly straightens his shirt.

Lydia patted Stiles on the cheek condescendingly, "Yeah, sure you can."

Stiles scoffs, "Mal needed to tell me something. We were just talking, er, well mostly talking."

Lydia rolls her eyes at Stiles, "As your friend," she says hooking her arm through Malia's "I'm getting you out of here for your own good. This is your one night of freedom. It's important."

Malia gives Stiles a helpless backward glance as Lydia drags her off. The guys follow them down the stairs and out the front door. Kira, Cora, Braeden, and Hayden are all outside leaning on the side of Lydia's car waiting for them. They let out a cacophony of whistles, jeers, and catcalls as Malia steps out of the house. Malia shakes her head at them, and Stiles flushes.

The guys circle up around Stiles and start chirping at him. "You lost the bet, man," Scott says punching him in the shoulder.

"Yeah, C'mon, pay-up," Jordan says holding out his hand toward him, waggling his fingers.

Liam shakes his head at him, mockingly, "Couldn't even last twenty-four hours."

Stiles rolls his eyes at them and reaches for his wallet. The guys all start hooting and hollering, continuing to rain down good-natured abuse on him. Stiles waves them off and claps a fifty dollar bill into Parrish's hand.

The girls close ranks around Malia and start to steer her toward the car playfully. Malia reaches back and hooks two of her fingers in his, "Sorry," she mutters as she squeezes them. Her hand drops away as they tow her backwards away from him. Stiles shrugs at her, giving her his signature crooked smile. "It's okay," he whispers, lowly knowing that only her coyote-ears will be able to pick up every word, "It was worth it to see you."

He knows she heard him clearly because her gorgeous caramel brown eyes, spark with something that sears him all the way down to his toes. And in a blur of movement, she ducks under Cora's arm, dodges around Lydia and Kira to get to him. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him long and hard. Their friends shout and whistle in the background as Stiles gets lost in her lips. When the kiss breaks, she lingers close brushing the tip of her nose along his, "I love you," she breathes out, and his heart swoops in his chest.

Eventually, their friends break them apart and start herding them back to their respective parties.

"Control your guy, would you!" Cora shouts over her shoulder to Scott as she drags Malia away, "Clearly my cousin can't be trusted when it comes to him." Malia shoves her Cora good naturally and breaks out into a smile, blushing. Scott scowls after her. As the guys start to haul him back into the house, Stiles watches Malia and feeling love-drunk and giddy he shouts after her, "I'm marrying you tomorrow!"

Malia arches her head out the car window and answers back, "You bet your ass, you are!"


End file.
